Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
That’s assuming an awful lot though, isn’t it? That my confession might throw off someone as focused and ambitious and smart as Sally Powell?
Yeah, I’m gonna be a fucking mess when she leaves. But our separation might not affect her like that. It didn’t in the past. Can sex really change that much, that quickly?
I don’t know.
I do know I’m glad we didn’t go any further last night. Of course I wanted to fuck Sally. I wanted it so badly that my body still aches with the desire however many hours later. But it all happened so fast.
One minute, I was Sally’s fake date. I was asking her if she was okay with us holding hands.
The next, I was on top of her, capturing her moans in my mouth as I tried not to tear that fucking dress off of her.
My balls contract. I’m getting hard again. The water’s finally warm, but I turn the tap all the way to cold. The skin on my neck and shoulders goes numb.
Cash would kill me if Sally did something stupid on my account. John B would hate me forever. Patsy would never forgive me. By hooking up with Sally, I could very well tear our family apart.
It could also tear me apart. Bad things happen when I let people get close. Believing otherwise was just a dream—literally in my case. I have to protect myself.
Which means Sally and I have to stop. I have to tell her the sex we talked about last night absolutely cannot happen.
Sally wants to get laid, she’s gotta do it with someone else.
I’m fine with her being with someone else.
I am fucking fine with it.
I get out of the shower and throw on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and my work boots. Then I tie a blue bandana around my neck. As foreman, I technically have weekends off. But there’s always work to be done on a ranch, and I gotta do something to get my mind off Sally and the memory of those fucking thighs wrapped around my waist.
So soft. Soft and strong. Woman can ride a horse like nobody’s business. She’s at ease in the saddle, her body loose, her back straight.
Bet she’d ride me just as good.
Pushing my arms into my denim jacket, I pluck a hat off the stand by the door and shove it onto my head. It’s too early for a beer, right? It is cold outside. Nobody would judge me if I put whiskey in my coffee.
I open the door—no one locks up around here—and nearly have a heart attack when I see Sally standing on my front porch. She’s got two cardboard cups from the coffee shop downtown in her hands, and a big old smile on her face.
My stomach drops. But my heart, it swells, slowly unfurling like morning glory does when its flowers are touched by the sun.
“Hey.” My voice sounds like gravel.
Sally, though, just keeps smiling, unafraid of my growling. “Hey. I brought you some coffee because, well, that’s apparently my thing now, driving over to Lucky River Ranch at random times to bring you delicious, hot beverages. I promise I won’t ask for anything this time.”
She’s got purple thumbprints underneath her eyes, like she didn’t sleep much either. Her hair is pulled into a glossy knot on the top of her head. The strengthening sun catches on the stray strands framing her face and trailing down her neck, literally lighting her up.
Her lips still look a little swollen. My body leaps when I see a pink patch of skin on her throat. I did that. I marked her. She’s so damn pretty like this, disheveled and tired, no makeup, illuminated like an actual angel. I can’t find air to fill my lungs.
I am so fucking obsessed with you it’s not even funny.
“I’m real happy to see you, Sally.” I reach for the coffees. “Thank you kindly for bringing these.”
There’s a shyness to the way she looks at me from underneath her long lashes. “Do you hate me? For just showing up like this after…”
“Dumb question. I could never hate you. Especially not when you show up with caffeine.” Our fingers brush when I take the coffees. My pulse jumps. “You wanna come in?”
Sally eyes the pair of nearby rocking chairs. “It’s a beautiful morning.”
So she’s worried about what will happen if we go inside together too. That a good sign? Or a bad one?
That don’t matter though, does it? We’re not hooking up. I’m never putting my hands on her again.
Never ever, ever. Even if she is showing her hand by turning up like this, doing the difficult thing of facing the consequences of our actions rather than sweeping them under the rug. Takes guts to do that.
I love her for it.
“Not gonna be too chilly for you?” I ask.